1066
by ZenryokuKirby
Summary: Arthur Kirkland is a friend of the former Earl of Wessex. However, when the House of Godwin suddenly gets disturbing news, the family's lives turn for the worse. Eventually, war ensues. A tale of rival houses, without the cheesy Romeo&Juliet love story.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Notes: This is a historical fanfiction about Harold Godwinson and William I (the Conqueror). This first chapter is basically talking about the life of Harold. It isn't initially focused on England (a.k.a. Arthur Kirkland) primarily; however, the next chapters will! I'm assuming that this story might be finished within 4-5 chapters, if they're all around the length of this first one!**

**In addition, I just want to note that this chapter might be a little boring - but hey, it's an introduction to Harold's life, and you'll get a glimpse of how some of the characters' personalities are (with regards to the relationship between Harold and Arthur in particular). I assure you that in the upcoming chapters, the major theme of this story will begin to unfold, as well as Arthur's role.**

**(Historical endnotes are, well, at the end).**

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1022 in the year of our lord, _anno domini_. Harold was born.

"Ahhhhhh!" a high pitch scream echoed throughout the manor. The large openness of the rooms with its stone walls didn't do much to absorb the shriek of agony. Most of the lowly servants were huddled right next to the door where the feminine cry came from, putting one side of their heads onto the door, listening into whatever's happening beyond. One of the maids almost tripped, trying to hear the voices in the next room. "Watch it!" one of the male servants whispered to and warned the clumsy female. The maid simply gave an apologetic look. The sadness of her face seemed like a satisfactory apology to the male, and they continued to listen in on the business inside the private room.

"Madam, you are doing absolutely great!" one of the lady of the manor's closest maids (and also a midwife) said. The midwife kept reassuring the lady and spewed religious quotes she memorized just for this moment. Along with the maid were two others of the same position as her, the earl, and a male friend of the earl.

"Now, please confess your sins." the maid solemnly suggested. The lady quickly did as she was told, and as soon as she was done, screamed again because of the pain.

"Oh - Agnes, I don't think I can take this anymore!..." the lady replied.

"We're with you, my dear. I have faith in our lord" the husband said. As soon as he finished the sentence, there was a great gasp that all of the participants in the room made collectively. The main midwife proceeded to position herself so she could deliver the new life that would enter the world at this very moment. First the head came out. Then the whole body, with the limp and dangling placenta the symbol of the biological and emotional connection between the newborn baby with its mother.

"It's... it's a healthy young boy!" the midwife cried in joy as the little one cried its first sound.

"Well, I must say - he looks like strong one - I'll tell you that!" the friend of the earl said.

"Right indeed, Arthur!" the nobleman chirped in, chuckling with joy as he saw his precious heir. The woman who experienced such suffering for hours on end was finally relieved in the now absence of pain. Of course, she was also happy to see that she birthed such a beautiful boy.

"Agnes, would you mind if I could hold my little precious?" the woman in the bed asked. She moved both of her hands into a carrying posture, signalling that she wanted the newly born child.

"Of course not m'lady. You have all the right to do so!" Agnes replied, and swiftly proceeded to cut the placenta - the act of differentiating and separating the two individuals, and carrying the baby and placing him delicately between the mother's arms.

"He's... beautiful. That's the only word I can think of as of this moment." the woman quickly whispered. The baby's eyes were closed, his face being the equivalent of an angel's.

"I congratulate you both, lord and lady - Godwin and Gytha, with sincerity for this fine new healthy male. Now you have two heirs, my friend!" Arthur said, happily patting on the lord's back.

"Thank you Arthur. We both appreciate it." Godwin said, taking in the scene reminiscent of the Virgin Mary holding baby Jesus. His angelic wife holding the newly born son seemed like an image from heaven.

Suddenly, everyone's back shivered with fear as the crackling sound of lightning and thunder immediately pierced through the air outside the stone walls. As soon as this happened, the baby began to cry, hurting everyones' ear drums. A crow flew in from a window, shrieking loudly, probably due to panic from the sudden storm that came out of nowhere.

The crow crashed into the opposite wall and died.

What a stupid crow.

The baby suddenly stopped crying after the avian came into the room. He began giggling.

Giggling.

Hee.

Hee.

Hee.

'Was this a bad omen?' Gytha silently asked herself. Truth be told, everyone wondered that.

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1046, in the year of our lord, _anno domini_.

Being a dashing man at a prime age of 22 years, Harold was peacefully strolling along a granular pathway, looking at the amazing variety of plants. Forget-me-nots, wild carrots (which were surprisingly delicious, as he would know due to prior tasty experiences), beautiful oak trees with hard little acorns that they occasionally drop during the summertime, and bright yellow dandelions. Then there's this plant, and then there's that plant, and oh - don't forget about that one, and how about-...

"HAROLD!" a man from a far distance off shouted. The sudden shout of his name made Harold autonomously stand upright from an original kneeling position (by looking at all the flora), and look towards the direction of the source of that loud cry.

It was Arthur. Or, as Harold calls him, "ye olde pooper of fun".

"HELLO, YE OLDE POOPER OF FUN!" Harold shouted back at the man, while snickering to himself. 'That hairy-eyebrowed man always ruins the fun in everything...' Harold solemnly thought. As the dashing young man unwillingly walked with unease to Arthur, ye olde pooper of fun annoyingly waited for the man to come closer to him, all the while crossing his arms and tapping his right foot impatiently against the earth.

"Right then. Ignoring the name-calling you have oh-so graciously decided to do, I just came to see whether you were actually practicing with your sword" Arthur sneeringly announced, looking at the adjacent sword a few meters away from the two conversing men.

"You know, you're going to regret this in case of an attack where I just so happen to decide not save your arse from a person who is fed up with your stubbornness." the Englishman remarked in a jokingly, yet insulting manner. He had a half-smile, with the left side of his mouth arched up, showing a little bit of his stained teeth due to the lack of basic hygiene.

Harold sighed while looking at Arthur with an unsurprised face. He fully knew well that he had to practice and do as Arthur says - in case of ye olde pooper of fun mentioning the sloth of the young man. 'Well, it wouldn't exactly be sloth, if one were to consider the fact that his time has been productive in learning more about the natural _terra_ the lord gave us' Harold reasoned.

'Nope. Certainly not a sin of sloth at all.'

Walking up to the lustrous sword that gleamed in the sunlight, temporarily blinding the young man, Harold picked the sharp weapon up and within less than a second, surprisingly stabbed in the direction of Arthur.

The sword came within 1 cm from spilling the guts of the now shocked and frightened man.

"What in the heavens are you doing, you madman!" Arthur shouted with disgust.

Harold laughed -

his arse off.

Ye olde pooper of fun was red in the face with embarrassment.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

It was during sunset when the news came. Harold, and his three brothers Tostig, Gyrth, and Leofwine, Godwin, Gytha, and of course, Ye olde pooper of fun were sitting around the lavishly huge wooden dinner table in Godwin's manor. There were such finely meats as lamb, beef, and hedgehog; there were also roast geese and ducks.

"Mmm! This..mmm... is... hhh...is...mmm... simply ravishing!" Leofwine delightfully lauded highly as he ate a breast of one of the geese. He then burped for a whole ten seconds in one go.

The brothers laughed and gave him praises for his fine burp. Leofwine was definitely the best burper - possibly in all of the land of the Angles.

"Oh! I might beat you this time, dear brother." Harold challenged his younger brother. It took him some moments and preparation in order to get the biggest and longest one out of his digestion system.

But then he did it.

It lasted for a measly 5 seconds.

"Oh Harold! I thought you could've at least beaten me that time!" Leofwine remarked with confidence because of his rival brother's loss in the burping challenge they informally created.

"I think your older brother, Sweyen, once won against Leofwine onetime..." Gyrth said, thinking about the past.

"Hmm... oh yes, yes! I remember that time now!" Tostig replied in realization of the incident.

The seven men and woman continued on with their dinner, while the 4 brothers talked and bickered while they ate their hearty meals. In between, servants would occasionally take the empty plates, or set new dishes onto the table. Arthur ate in silence (or rather, in annoyance of the brothers), while the Earl and his wife quietly conversed with each other.

What a typical family (plus one guest, of course).

"Um, m-m-master." a lowly male servant said quietly right beside Godwin. His stammering voice was almost unheard by the earl because of the four males who are still continuing their burping contest.

"What is it?" the earl asked in annoyance, being interrupted from his dinner.

"I've just heard rather shocking news." the servant replied with a stoic face.

"Well? Spit it out peasant." the earl said with a mouth full of hedgehog.

"Well..."

...

"Sweyen-has-recently-been-exiled-for-abducting-the-abbess-of-Leominister." the servile man said, all in one breath. 3 of the brothers heard what the man said, and immediately became silent. Harold was the only brother who just realized what the servant said, after his laugh was the only thing to be heard for miles. Gytha's cheeks immediately turned from a rosy pink colour to a ghostly white. Godwin had no visible sign of any emotion at all on his face.

Arthur then stood up hastily and slapped both of his hands on the table, glaring at the servant who brought the unfortunate news.

"What in god's name did you just say?" he asked in disbelief.

"You heard what he said." Godwin replied to the Angle.

"Well...ye-yes, bu-" Arthur stammered, while Godwin simply interrupted and said, "There is no need for more bickering. We must act rationally. Harold. You will be my heir because Sweyen is obviously not available for the position now. We will eat in **silence**!" Godwin stressed the last word with a thunderous voice.

The rest of the dinner was very awkwardly silent. The brothers all looked at Harold, wondering what he was thinking of at that time.

To be quite blunt,

Harold was shocked.

He may never see his brother again. The absence of his brother has now made him the next Earl of Wessex, pretty much the position just a little lower than that of the king of all of England.

He felt horrible for taking it away from dear old Sweyen.

'Oh, Sweyen. Why?

...

Why did you do such an idiotic thing?'

For the remainder of the meal, Harold didn't eat, while the others only ate the leftovers they had from their plates.

Is being the Earl of Wessex destined for Harold?

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**************Some Historical Insight:**

**-I talked all about that religious babble because Christianity obviously was popular back then in Europe. Also, the reason why the midwife told Gytha to admit all of her sins was because back then, the chance of a mother surviving childbirth was so low that Christian churches made it clear that expecting mothers should admit their sins in case they die during those critical moments**

**-Godwin is the Earl of Wessex, and married Gytha. They had the following children (in order of their age): Sweyn, Harold, Tostig, Gyrth, Leofwine, and a daughter, Edith of Wessex**

**-the reason why I didn't mention Edith of Wessex during the dinner was because by that time, she was already married to Edward the Confessor. Thus, I, as any other person would, assume that she would be living with Ed then**

**-yes, they did eat hedgehogs, geese, and duck back in the Middle Ages**

**-yes, burping was seen as respectful back in the Middle Ages as well**

**-the crow thing never actually happened. That was just dramatic license on my part for a great foreshadowing element and for symbolical purposes**


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Notes: This chapter debuts France (a.k.a. Francis Bonnefoy). It also has a lot more symbolism than the previous chapter. I hope you guys enjoy it! (Note: explanations to historical insight, symbols, and translations are at the bottom of this chapter.)**

**Thanks, CanadaMapleLeaf! Your sole review is very much appreciated! I'm glad someone has taken interest in my story!**

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"God be with you, Earl and Harold." Arthur politely stated to the father and son. They were the only two of the family who decided to part greetings with the guest.

"God be with you." Godwin said, hugging Arthur as best pals would do.

"Good'bye with'ya" Harold said. Arthur wasn't sure if what Harold said was just an insult, or a result of slurring four words into one. In any case, it didn't matter to him. Arthur turned around and left, on his horse, to his own comfortable, warm, and pleasant, lovely house.

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It was twilight when Arthur finally returned home. He let one of his servants put the horse into its proper stable. Looking out, he noticed that the sun was perfectly divided into two by the grassy, hilly horizon. The sky was a gradient of colours ranging from purple to yellow, and Arthur swore he could've saw the glinting hints of the first stars of the night. There was barely any wind since all of the trees were still and rustle-less - yet the Englishman had shivers down his spine from the cool, almost cold air. He tried feeling his hands - both of them were cold as ice.

Strange.

Usually, his hands were warm. That's how it's always been. He noticed the sun going down; the yellow and warm shades of the sky fading away, being consumed by the ultimately dark and cold colours of what we call "night". He felt as cold as the English countryside right now.

Was it because of what happened at Godwin's manor?

Shivers suddenly tingled down Arthur's spine again after that thought - this time, much worse. He needed to get inside or he would freeze to death.

'To-night seems 'specially cold...' he thought.

'Was this a bad omen?'

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"_Ahhh_..." Arthur yawned, with his mouth as wide open as it could get. His eyes began to water as he did his yawn. He could barely open his eyes. Plop! he fell, face first, into his bed.

Opening his eyes, he could obviously realize that the bedroom wasn't as big or fit for a king's - though it was comparable in size to the Earl of Wessex's. He realized that his room had an orange glow.

He forgot to turn off the "light".

There stood an already lit candle on top of the nightstand right beside his bed. With one blow, Arthur put the fire, and consequently, the light out. He then looked up. He saw the ceiling.

Oh great. He was tired, he kept yawning, and he could barely open his eyes initially. Now, he knew he couldn't sleep. He was always an insomniac like that. Annoyed, Arthur curled up into a ball and slept on his side, rather than facing up towards the ceiling.

He still felt uncomfortable. Shivers down his spine commenced again.

He slept on his other side now, and put one of his hands underneath his soft pillow, recently stuffed with geese feathers, as requested by the picky man himself.

Shivers. Down. His. Spine.

"ARGHH!" Arthur annoying sat up from his bed, disturbed, and quite frankly, agitated to hell by the constant shivers. down. his. spine. Grumbling, he got out of bed, and proceeded to light the candle again. He went over to his desk beside the nightstand, and opened a book that just so happened to be on his desk.

The first sentence of the book said the following:

**Pale Death beats equally at the poor man's gate and at the palace of kings.**

...

Strange.

He closed the book, leaned back on his chair, looking at the ceiling again. He noticed a spider out of the corner of his eye, in its web, in a corner of the room. It was eating unlucky prey that got caught in the maze-like pattern of the spider's booby-trap.

Shivers. Down. His. Spine.

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_eodem anno_ _domini_. Volognes, Normandy (North-western France).

"The time has come, bastard!" Gui de Brionne shouted on horseback, with other horsemen around him, cheering him on. The group of barbaric men had fiery torches, swords, and archers. It was a rather cool night in Normandy, with the sun going down just a few hours ago.

"William! Come out or we'll make you!" Gui shouted again in the same direction - towards the duke's house.

"Un bastard isn't fit to be a duke!" a man by the name of Nigel shouted within the crowd of rebels.

...bastard. What a bastard. A bastard. A bastard. He was a bastard. And always will be. Forever and ever,

Amen.

William's burly robustness burdened him with tremendous difficulty as he tried to slide down the dark, mucky shaft. Luckily, the moistness that clung on the stone walls was a great lubricator for his descent from the top of the tunnel to the bottom, where freedom lies. In actuality, the hardest part of the journey wasn't because of the smallness of the shaft (or rather, the largeness of William), but rather, it was the stench.

'I will never... EVER listen to that damn steward again...' William vehemently thought to himself.

'Really? The poo shaft was the best escape route for me?'

...Squish. Squash. The human wastes were spread out along the walls, collecting at various key points in rather large chunks. The worst part of it was the smell.

Oh yes. The smell. William sure didn't want to accidently pass out from the god-awful stench, and drown in the part liquid, part solid mixture.

As he trudged along, he began to think. Did he really even deserve to be a duke? He was only chosen to be the successor of his father, Robert, the former duke of Normandy, because the old man had no other sons who were still alive. Thus, he, as a result of the breeding between a noble and a lowly daughter of a tanner, was born.

He remembers that one day...

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1037 _anno domini_.

_De profundis clamavi ad te, Domine;  
Domine, exaudi vocem meam. Fiant aures tuae intendentes  
in vocem deprecationis meae.  
Si iniquitates observaveris, Domine, Domine, quis sustinebit?  
Quia apud te propitiatio est; pet propter legem tuam sustinui te, Domine.  
__Sustinuit anima mea in verbo ejus:  
Speravit anima mea in Domino.  
A custodia matutina usque ad noctem, et copiosa apud eum redemptio.  
Et ipse redimet Israel ex omnibus inquitatibus ejus_

The priest, with his assistants, sprinkle holy water onto Archbishop Robert's cadaver. He looked as if he was in an eternal sleep through time.

Maybe, just maybe, his eyelids moved.

But we all know that was a lie.

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'How could this happen?...' William thought with disbelief. The nine-year-old's eyes were wide-open, looking towards the ground before the platform which, on top, stood the coffin with Archbishop Robert who laid inside it. The unmoving body had its hands lying on top of its heart, with its head being towards the altar, which was, in turn, in the center of the ecclesiastic building. He looked so solemn and peaceful... William, looking at the once vibrant and alive man, had dilated pupils, as dark and empty as nothing.

In fact, it was darker and emptier than nothing.

The cantor and clergy then proceeded to chant _Miserere_ (Psalm 51) in alternate verses.

_Miserere mei, Deus,..._

Archbishop Robert was one of the few that supported the young child's succession of being the duke of Normandy after (coincidentally, with the same name,) Robert I, Duke of Normandy passed away. Without Archbishop Robert, all hope now seems lost. It seemed that everyone else, other than a few of his closest friends, was out to get him.

Because he was a bastard.

William's fists clenched autonomously without him voluntarily causing this. He was trying his best not to fight back the tears.

'Don't cry...

Don't cry...

Don't...c-cry...

DON'T CRY!'

He took an expiated, exasperated breath and he felt like he was being choked; he couldn't swallow. He felt so horrible. His heart was breaking.

The butcher chopped his soul into two. The butcher ruthlessly severed Robert's string of life in half without a care with his sleek, indestructible satanic butcher knife. He probably thought of Robert as but a pig, killing it without a blink as the pig squealed for mercy.

SQUEEEEEEEEEAL!

Chop! The pig's head rolled down from the butcher's table, down into the depths of hell.

Blood. All you can see is blood.

A reassuring hand was felt by William on his left shoulder. As he looked into the same direction, he saw the blonde man.

Francis.

'You came...' William whispered quietly so only the two could hear while looking up at the older man. Francis, with tears in his eyes, simply lightly smiled at the young child, rubbing the boy's grungy greasy hair to comfort him, and to signal that he wasn't the only one suffering in this crowd of people. He wasn't alone.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

1040 _anno domini_.

"Gilbert, why can't I go outside?" young William asked. The man William spoke to was also speaking to Francis at the same time. Gilbert then broke his conversation in a respectful manner, and turned to look at the small child.

He sworn to protect the bastard - at all costs.

"_Mon cher, soyez silencieux quand les adultes parlent ensemble._" Gilbert said with a sincere smile. However, he did allow the boy to go out and frolic around the courtyard without supervision. Gilbert trusted the boy. Surprisingly, the child was very mature for his age.

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"Gilbert, _Pouviez -vous me raconter une histoire avant de dormir?_" William asked out of loneliness. Things around the manor just haven't been the same ever since his father passed away.

Besides, Gilbert was more or less a father-figure to William anyways.

"_Bien sûr_" Gilbert replied happily, sitting down beside William's bed.

"Have you ever heard about this onetime..."

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Gilbert was killed while he was protecting me from those anarchists.

_Reposer en paix, Gilbert._

'All because of me.

Because I am a bastard.'

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_Reposer en paix, Turchetil._

'You protected me.

I let you down.

Because I am a bastard.'

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_Reposer en paix, Osbern._

'You were killed in my sleeping chamber as I lazily slept.

I could've helped you.

But because I am a bastard...'

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William woke up from his daydream. All this time, he was daydreaming inside the poo shaft.

He made sure there were no sounds from Guis' men and horses for a good solid 5 minutes before he gathered up his courage and trudged on. He took off his stinky clothes, and ran naked throughout the countryside. Fortunately, everyone was sleeping, so they wouldn't see the odd madman in the nude. He quickly went to the place where the steward told him to go, and just as the steward said, a brand new royal outfit and a horse with its reins tied to a branch of a short tree waited for him in that specific location. He put the outfit on, untied the rein from the tree, and got on the horse. On the horse, however, he noticed a spider near his face. It came down from its spider web on the tree that which the horse was tied to.

William, from his frustration and angst because of all that he's been through, decided to mercilessly squeeze the spider with one of his hands.

He opened the hand.

The predator who preys on others, has now been preyed itself.

Eventually, Wiliam escaped from the city of Valognes, with the help of his newly acquired Equestrian companion. He decided to listen to the steward's advice (because the steward has been reliable all of this time) and go to the top sovereign himself - King Henry I of France, in order to appease the ruler. Hopefully the king will help the child. I mean, that's what kings do, right? To help their subjects!

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**Author's Notes**: **The Gilbert in this story isn't Prussia. It's an actual historical figure whose name just happens to be the same as a certain albino ;) Also, I just want to point out that I'm not really Christian, so I had to research a lot for Archbishop Richard's "very Christian" funeral XD!**

**Historical Insight****:**

-"God be with you" is actually the medieval predecessor of the word "Goodbye". The phrase basically evolved throughout time!

- "Pale Death beats equally at the poor man's gate and at the palace of kings." is by the Roman poet, Horace.

-historically, Gui de Brionne, along with some other folks, did in fact lead a riot against William the Bastard

-apparently, some knights actually infiltrated castles using the poo shaft!

-the long Latin sermon that the priest and his assistants recite when they sprinkle water on the Archbishop is the psalm _De profundis_. If you Wikipedia "Christian Catholic burial ritual", you can see that historically, they did recite this psalm

-I don't know if you guys noticed, but I described the Archbishop facing towards the altar - if you didn't know, anyone that isn't a priest would've been faced away from the altar

-Miserere was usually recited or chanted

-William's historical father was named Richard

-after Richard, Duke of Normandy died, Archbishop Richard (who coincidentally has the same name) supported William in becoming the new duke, even if he was an illegitimate child

-Gilbert of Brionne, Turchetil, and Osbern were guardians of William. Each of them were sadly killed.

-legend has it that William actually escaped by night from Gui de Brionne's riot and sought out King Henry to ask for help (however, I made up the poo shaft part for comedic license)

**Translations****:**

-"_Mon cher, soyez silencieux quand les adultes parlent ensemble_" - My dear, you must be quiet when adults are talking to each other

-"Gilbert, _Pouviez -vous me raconter une histoire avant de dormir_" - Gilbert, Can you tell me a bedtime story?

_-_"_Bien sûr_" - Of course

_-_"_Reposer en paix_" - Rest in peace

**Symbols:**

-"Shivers suddenly tingled down Arthur's spine [...] 'Was this a bad omen?'"

This is basically foreshadowing Harold's misfortune in 1066 (I think you know what I'm talking about!)

-"Pale Death beats equally at the poor man's gate and at the palace of kings."

This is another foreshadow of Harold's misfortune.

**-**the spider

When Arthur saw the spider, it was eating its prey, like a usual spider would. When William saw the spider, he killed it. This implies something between William "conquering" things with his wrath.

-the butcher and the pig

The butcher was basically Lucifer, a.k.a. the devil, a.k.a. Satan. I analogized the pig with Archbishop Richard because the visualization of the butcher killing the pig is as ungodly as Richard's death. It also parallels the grossness of both of the two things.


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